


don't you hear me howling

by ladyofrosefire



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Being Walked In On, Blowjobs, Cunnilingus, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Face Slapping, Fingering, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Multi, Post-Canon, Threesome - F/M/M, Under-negotiated Kink, Unsafe Sex, Wall Sex, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-06 00:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21217409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofrosefire/pseuds/ladyofrosefire
Summary: Clayton shifts, carefully flexing his arm to test the dressing. “I hope I didn’t offend your sensibilities too badly.”Arabella swallows to wet her suddenly dry mouth. “This isn’t the worst thing I’ve seen from you today.”His eyes flick from his arm to her face and back. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you cared about me.”Arabella has an itch named Clayton Sharpe, and both of them want Reverend Matthew Mason. God help them.





	1. I know who I am when I'm alone

The Gem Saloon is the quietest Arabella’s seen it in the time she’s been in Deadwood. It’s unsettling. There are maybe a dozen people scattered around the room, including their little crew. Aloysius had disappeared upstairs following one of the girls, and Clayton had vanished into one of the back rooms even before that. Miriam and the Reverend are talking, but Arabella can’t make herself pay attention to what they’re saying. Her hands are still shaking a little where they’re wrapped around her whiskey glass, and her eyes keep being drawn towards that back room. Arabella downs her whiskey, steels herself, and goes toward it. 

The door opens with a squeal of hinges that has Clayton turning towards it, hand dropping to the Colt resting on a crate beside him. He relaxes when he sees Arabella in the doorway.

She, on the other hand, flinches and averts her gaze. “I didn’t realize you weren’t… decent.”

He makes no reply other than a soft huff around the cork in his teeth and pours a slow stream of whiskey over the graze on his upper arm. 

She starts to turn to leave and then pauses, eyes still fixed on the sawdust-covered floor. “There are doctors, you know. Who could see to that.”

“Seems like a lot of fuss.”

“Then, couldn’t you have asked one of us for help?”

Clayton pauses. Then he spits out the cork and sets the bottle down on a nearby crate. “Alright. Gimme a hand. Or let me deal with this.”

Arabella narrows her eyes. “Fine.” She shuts the door behind her and crosses the room in a few short strides, tugging off her gloves. She reaches past him for the roll of bandage next to the bottle. “Give me that.” If she’s less gentle than she should be, it’s because her hands are still trembling a bit, but she keeps her eyes off his bare chest, doesn’t think about the warmth of his skin under her fingers, and finishes wrapping his arm before stepping back and brushing her hands off on her skirt. 

Clayton shifts, carefully flexing his arm to test the dressing. “I hope I didn’t offend your sensibilities too badly.”

Arabella swallows to wet her suddenly dry mouth. “This isn’t the worst thing I’ve seen from you today.”

His eyes flick from his arm to her face and back. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you cared about me.”

Her hand cracks against his cheek. Clayton’s head turns with it, and pink blooms under his beard. Then he turns back to look at her. A flush rises in Arabella’s cheeks, and her breath quickens. She meets his gaze and finds it still horribly _knowing_. 

Her palm connects with his cheek a second time, hard enough to make her hand sting. This time, he lets out a soft sound. And then, again, he faces her. 

For a moment, she stands there, very nearly panting. Then she jolts forward, pressing her mouth to his and closing her fists in his hair. Clayton starts, and then his hands come up to clutch at her hips, one sliding up her spine as he draws her deeper into the kiss. When she sinks her teeth into his lip, he rears back with a curse. He’s moving her before she can catch her breath, her back hitting the wall as his lips find hers again. 

Arabella kisses him until her chest feels tight. Then, she yanks him back by the hair, both of them gasping for breath. Clayton smirks down at her. Heat races up the back of her neck. She has half a mind to drive a knee up into his— his _principals_. Instead, she settles for getting a hand down between them and squeezing. He lets out a grunt, eyes falling closed. Then he starts rucking up her skirts and petticoats. Both of Arabella’s hands fall to his waist, undoing his belt and trousers. She helps him wrestle her skirts out of the way as he half lifts her, pressing her back until she’s held between him and the wall. When he presses his hand between her thighs, he finds her wet. Her face burns, but he groans against the side of her neck. She jolts and gasps as blunt, callused fingers stroke against, and then push inside her. A hiss breaks from her despite her best efforts. Then his fingers crook, and she cries out, clutching at his back. The stinging stretch remains, but her body opens to him, flushes, heats. His mouth finds hers again, swallowing her whimpers and her moans as he thrusts his fingers in her. She whines as he pulls them away. 

“Hold your horses,” he mutters, fumbling open the front of his trousers one-handed, the other still holding up her skirts. 

Spitefully, Arabella rakes her nails down his chest. Clayton just hisses and unbuttons his shorts. She sneaks a glance between them and allows herself a moment to appreciate the look of him. He’s bigger than her husband had been. The sight of him makes her shiver as he thrusts once or twice through the circle of his fingers. Then his hands grip her thighs and lift her. She locks her legs around his hips, nails digging into his shoulders when he lets go enough to line himself up. 

Arabella bites down _hard_ on his shoulder as he thrusts into her. Clayton’s groan rumbles past her ear. His grip on her thighs shifts and she gasps again as he presses deep into her. He pins her to the wall, hips grinding against hers with his short, quick thrusts. Heat like lightning, sharp and demanding, wraps up her spine and down her legs, turns the core of her molten. She clings to him, goading him on with her teeth and her nails. Even with her teeth at his neck, she cannot muffle the cries he pulls from her. The pleasure builds and builds, and she tenses so hard one of her legs cramps. 

Then the coil in her snaps. Arabella cries out, high and sharp. Her whole body arcs with pleasure, relief rushing through her as she clenches on him. There’s a crashing sound as her foot connects with the crate holding the open whiskey bottle. She regains her balance and pushes at Clayton’s shoulders, though she can’t quite stop her whine as he pulls out. He buries his face against her shoulder as his hips jerk, and he comes with a low, broken groan, spilling hot against her thigh.

There’s another crashing noise, this time of a door swinging open, and Arabella raises her eyes to meet the wide-eyed stare of the Reverend. Another jolt of lightning courses down her spine before the door bangs shut again. In a flash, she shoves Clayton hard enough to send him staggering into the nearest crate. Her skirts fall. She barely bothers to smooth them before dashing to the door, yanking it open, and running out through the saloon. She catches Miriam’s tired sigh before she stumbles out onto the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The authors thrive on comments!!! ♥️♠️♦️♣️


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arabella and Clayton turn to scheming.

Arabella finds she cannot get any of that incident out of her head. Not the priest’s face, not Clayton’s bare torso, not any of what he’d made her feel. Her hands wander in her bath. 

And then, once the violence is more mundane, she approaches Clayton again. She needs a bodyguard, so she makes the offer to him. That means a tour of the estate and the warehouse she and Miriam have recently secured. 

In an isolated corner, he sets her on a large crate and drops to his knees before her. He offers her his necktie to bite down on, sets his mouth between her thighs, and proceeds to make her shriek loudly enough that her hand and the tie together can’t muffle it. 

They fall into a pattern of biting kisses and quick fucks in dark corners until they finally land in her bed, Arabella riding him slow and leisurely. This time, his necktie holds his wrists against the headboard despite his half-hearted tugging. Even then, he doesn’t get much louder than some low, plaintive moans.

After, she asks him about Matthew Mason and the way he looks at them when he thinks no one is paying attention. Clayton draws in a deep breath and goes for a bottle of whiskey. He fills both their glasses and downs his even as Arabella raises hers for a toast. After a beat, he pours himself another and clinks it gently against hers, a smile tugging at his mouth and a furrow between his brows. 

It takes a minute for him to confirm that, yes, he has noticed, and yes, he is interested. This time, it’s her turn to top up their glasses, giving up on holding the sheet over her shoulder as she leans forward. It slips down, and she finds his gaze fixed on her breasts and the pink-red mark he left on one of them. He does lift his eyes back to her face after he has his glass in hand again. 

“You meaning to do something about it?” he asks once that glass is half-gone too.

“I thought  _ we _ might.”

“I’m listenin’.”

They find their way to Mason’s hotel room. With the roof burned off the chapel, he can’t sleep there, and so has taken a room at the Bullock Hotel. Arabella is fairly certain he doesn’t sleep any better here than he would at home, but at least this way, he won’t catch a chill. And she’s grateful for how easy the noise makes sneaking herself and Clayton in without giving the town gossips too much to talk about. 

“We killing time?” he asks when she’s shut the door behind them. 

Arabella considers, weighing the value of patience against the idea of waiting with nothing to distract her from the anticipation curling up her spine. Then she pushes Clayton onto the inn bed. They’re made to be conducive to activities like this, apparently, because he does not tumble off the other side of it. He kicks off his boots and scoots back. She follows him, tugging up her skirts before settling astride his lap. He busies himself immediately with the fastenings of her bodice. He has it off her inside a few moments, and the cover of her corset a moment later, before his hands curve against the bones wrapping her ribs and slide upward, calluses snagging on the cotton. She tips her head back on a moan as he cups her breasts. 

“Shhh,” he hisses against her neck, “if he hears you—”

Arabella nods and then starts tugging at his tie and his coat. She’s clumsier with his clothes than he with hers, but she has him down to his shirtsleeves with his suspenders hanging around his waist before her patience runs out. He breaks the kiss for long enough to unfasten her skirt and pull it over her head. It leaves her petticoats a mess. She swats them back down, ignoring Clayton’s chuckles. Then he draws her in again, one hand dipping between her thighs. Arabella bites back another moan, rolling her hips against the motion of his fingers. 

This time, when the door swings open, Arabella does not jump. Clayton looks up, and they both turn toward where Mason stands, mouth part-way open, staring at the two of them. 

He clears his throat heavily and forces his gaze to the floor. “Is there… That is. I could come back later—”

“Stay,” Clayton replies, “If you want.”

Mason wavers, and Arabella extends a hand. “Come and join us, Reverend?” There’s only the slightest tremble in her voice. 

She climbs off of Clayton’s lap as Mason approaches. A deep flush spills over his face and down under his high collar. That’s the first thing she goes for, reaching up to tug the stock free and set it aside. 

Arabella pauses with her hands against his shoulders. “You’re trembling.”

Mason lets out a shaky laugh. “Am I?” 

“We don’t bite.”

Clayton narrows his eyes at her, “That’s a  _ damn _ lie.”

Mason gives another nervous laugh, eyes darting between the two of them until they settle on the bruises just barely showing from under Clayton’s shirt. He pushes the collar aside, brushing his fingers over the marks on Clayton’s shoulder. “How did these happen?”

“Well, they ain’t from fallin’ off a horse.” he sighs, “…Keep your  _ everything _ away from this one’s mouth if you’re doing something she likes.” He pulls off his shirt, tossing it to one side, and then gets to his feet. “C’mere.”

Mason moves jerkily, but willingly, allowing Clayton to divest him of his coat and black shirt. Arabella unfastens the cuffs of his white one, pausing to kiss his palm before letting Clayton pull that off, as well. They make a fine picture, the one ropey, the other wrapped in thick muscle that makes more sense now that she can see the scars on his skin. She comes up to kiss the back of his shoulder once Clayton turns him. Her hands slide down Mason’s sides, brushing against Clayton’s on their way to the buttons of his trousers. She still blushes as they come loose, but not as red as the flush now spilling down Mason’s neck and onto his chest. 

“Oh—” he says, like he means to say ‘ _ Oh, God _ .’ and then sucks in a breath as Clayton shoves his pants down to his ankles without ceremony. The shorts follow, and she feels his shudder through both palms. “It’s—um. Been a while—” he continues.

Clayton pauses. “Since anyone, or since another man?” when Mason doesn’t respond, he gives a slow smile. “I’ll be gentle.”

Without another word, he folds to his knees. Arabella gasps. She can  _ just _ see over Mason’s shoulder if she stretches, and she has almost his view as Clayton drags his tongue down the length of Mason’s cock. His lips close around the head, and Mason groans, the sound rolling up from deep in his chest. One hand falls to Clayton’s hair, the other going white-knuckled against his thigh. Clayton glances up at him quickly, then leans in again to lick a slow stripe up the underside of his cock. Mason’s hips jerk slightly before he can catch himself, and his fingers tighten in Clayton’s hair. When he leans, Arabella shuffles backward, and he sits down hard. 

She has a better view this way. Mason’s cock seems to be thicker than Clayton’s, and the thought has her clenching, hips rolling before she settles onto her calves and stills herself. The sounds being drawn from Mason promise that she won’t have to wait long. 

Clayton’s hands grip Mason’s hips hard enough to leave marks. He bobs his head, mouth flushed and shining. And Mason shudders and moans, his head falling back against her shoulder. She kisses his jaw, then the corner of his mouth, her hand sliding down his chest and over his stomach. He turns to catch her in a proper kiss. A moment later, a startled sound breaks from his mouth, and he shudders. Then he slumps with a low, cracking groan.

The back of Clayton’s hand does not entirely hide his smile. When he finishes wiping his mouth, he stands, hands falling to his trouser buttons. Arabella shakes herself out of her stupor in time to reach out and help him. He ends up tripping a little as he climbs onto the bed. It’s made for two, not three, and Mason is a large man. But they manage to shift themselves. Arabella ends up on her back with Clayton’s mouth on her neck before he unsnaps the front of her corset. He casts it aside and then reaches for the ties of her shift. Mason gathers himself enough to help her out of her petticoats, nearly reverent in the way his hands slide down her thighs. She’s down to her stockings almost before she realizes. Her hands rise, and she draws her legs up and together, a hot flush burning across her cheeks. 

Mason is closer. His gaze doesn’t leave her face as he cups her cheek and leans in to kiss her. She arches into it as his mouth opens to her tongue. Clayton’s mouth finds her neck, his calloused thumb rubbing over one nipple. His hand travels down, gliding over her stomach, her hip, dipping between her thighs again. She bites Mason’s lip at the jolt that shoots through her from her clit. He pulls back with a gasp. Then his eyes drift down and go wide. His mouth opens, tongue skimming his lower lip. Arabella spreads her thighs, arching into Clayton’s hand. 

“May I?” Mason asks.

Arabella nods just shy of frantically. “If you’re interested.”

“I think he’s dyin’ for a chance. You done this before, Reverend?”

“It’s… been a while. But I think I remember the idea.”

Mason leans down between her thighs, and all three of them shift; her legs over his shoulders, half leaning on Clayton with one of his arms around her waist, the other hand still stroking gently. A moment later comes the drag of stubble against her inner thighs. Clayton moves his fingers, laying her open to Mason’s tongue as it drags slowly up to her clit. 

For the briefest moment, it freezes her, knowing what she must look like spread out between them. Then, Mason’s tongue flicks over her clit. He does it again and again, not roughly, but  _ firmly. _ Clayton’s arm around her waist becomes the only thing keeping her from knocking him away as she bucks and whimpers. He lingers there a moment until she arches into it. Then his tongue dips lower, just barely pressing into her. The pleasure shifts and softens, and some of the tension leaves her spine. Arabella turns her head, fumbling for a kiss that Clayton keeps light, lips brushing hers just out of sync with the curl of Mason’s tongue. She breathes out as he pulls back to inhale.

A moment later, his mouth returns in wet, drawing kisses. Arabella squirms under him, gasping softly. She cries out as his mouth closes on her clit, twisting to muffle the sound against Clayton’s shoulder. 

“Darlin’—” he shifts, dislodging Arabella and reaching down to take Mason by the hair. “ _ Listen _ to her.”

Mason lingers for only a few moments before wandering back down. She bites her own tongue as he sucks on her clit, whimpering through her teeth as her spine bows. Her thighs tense, and the sounds rise in pitch until they taper off entirely. He pulls back, then, lapping at her, slipping his tongue into her again until another groan breaks from her lips. This time, he goes gently, tongue going around and around and then up and down, one way and then the other. It builds until she writhes between them. The pace becomes intolerably slow. She looks down to find Clayton holding tight to Mason’s hair and turns to sink her teeth into his bicep.

“Hey!” He jerks his arm away, “Alright. Fuck. Go ahead, Rev.”

Mason makes a soft sound of effort and presses closer, a groan rumbling through her. Arabella gasps and shivers and clings to the headboard. Her thighs clamp tight around his head, her heels dig into his back, and she arches, almost lifting off the bed as his focus comes back to her clit. The world narrows to his mouth on her and Clayton’s lips against her throat. She tries to bite back one cry after another as they bring her over the edge again. Only when she’s trailed off to whimpers does Mason pull away, his mouth and beard wet, and his eyes dark. Gently, he lowers her legs to the mattress. 

“You lookin’ to go again, Mason?” Clayton asks with a meaningful nod.

He looks down at himself and chuckles. “The—spirit is willing. The body might need a little longer. And you’ve been waiting.”

“That I have.”

“You’ve—” he clears his throat, “you pulled me into bed with you. I think you can use my first name.”

“Matthew,” Arabella replies, “Come here and kiss him, won’t you?”

“Of course—” he doesn’t get the time to say more before Clayton pulls him in, tongue slipping into his mouth, teeth tugging at his lower lip. 

Arabella watches them for a moment before going to fish in the bedside drawer. When Clayton told her what he wanted the olive oil for, she’d blushed scarlet and stammered, but she brought a small jar of the stuff. She unscrews the lid carefully before setting it on top of the nightstand. 

There’s a soft sound behind her, and she turns back just in time to catch Mason with his lips at Clayton’s throat. His hands trace over the planes of Clayton’s chest and the scars that crisscross it. 

“What can I do for you,” he murmurs, the rumble of his voice making both Arabella and Clayton shudder. 

“I, uh,” Clayton licks his lips, “I was wonderin’ if you might…” he cuts his gaze toward where Arabella sits beside the jar. 

Mason follows her gaze to it. He blinks, and Arabella looks to Clayton with a silent plea for  _ him _ to finish his request before Mason reaches out and takes the jar. “I understand.”

Arabella worries at her lip, her eyes darting between them. Then she shifts, turning Clayton towards her while Mason coats his fingers in the oil and sets it out of the way. His shoulders draw tight under her hands, his legs quivering as she presses hers against them. 

“Try to relax? I don’t want him hurting you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Clayton grits out, but he does exhale slowly and do his best to release the tension knotting up his spine. 

He shudders as Mason’s fingers dip out of sight. At a soft nudge and a whispered word, he hooks one leg over Arabella’s just at her knee. His cock bumps against her thighs. When she stretches out her hand, Mason holds the jar out for her. Her thighs are still wet, but she slips her hand between them, the oil cool on her fingers. There’s still enough to slick Clayton’s cock as she drags her fingers over it and draws him in between her thighs. At the same time, Mason shifts behind him, and Clayton moans and presses closer. His hips jerk, cock sliding through the tight, slick space she’s created. 

“Want another?” Mason asks, leaning in to kiss the back of Clayton’s neck. 

He nods, jaw tight, his eyes squeezed shut. 

“I’m gonna need you to relax.” He kisses his shoulder. 

Arabella catches the shift of his arm a second before Clayton makes a strangled noise, his hips roll between them, and his blunt nails dig into her thigh. “ _ C’mon _ ,” he hisses. “Are you all talk?”

He moves his hand again, slowly. “I’m not going to hurt you. Relax.” 

“You ain’t  _ gonna _ —” He breaks off with a low moan. 

When Arabella looks over his shoulder, she finds Mason watching Clayton’s shoulders, a hint of mischief in the crook of his lips, and more tenderness than she’d expected in his gaze.  _ Better that Clayton can’t see it _ , she thinks, before drawing him into a kiss. No need to make him curl in on himself any further when even she had trouble meeting that look head on. But the kiss soothes him and slowly draws the tension from his body. 

Clayton’s breath stutters against her lips as Mason apparently works another finger into him. He rocks between them, cock sliding between her thighs, grinding back against Mason’s fingers. A hoarse moan works out of him. Arabella draws him down to her shoulder and runs her fingers through his hair. He shudders in her arms, tensing for a moment before letting out a long, cracking groan. The roll of his hips becomes erratic, his breathing rough. Then Mason presses in a little closer, the flex of muscle in his arm changing, and Clayton cries out. 

“Fuck—” he bites his lip until she pulls his head up and kisses him again. Another shudder and moan wrack him. “ _ Bella— _ fuck,  _ goddamn— _ ”

Mason leans forward to kiss the nape of his neck. 

With a cry and a curse, Clayton spills between Arabella’s thighs, the leg hooked over hers tensing. A moment later, Mason draws his hand away, eliciting a twitch and another curse. Then Clayton rolls onto his back, the last dregs of tension draining from him and leaving him boneless, his eyes closed. He reaches up blindly to grasp at Mason’s shoulder and pull him into a kiss. For a moment, they linger with their foreheads resting against each other. Then Clayton lets go and turns, eyes still closed, toward Arabella, his arm settling across her hip. She lies beside him and watches Mason wash his hands in the basin and wet cloths from the pitcher. When he returns, she takes one gratefully and wipes away the worst of the mess between her legs. 

Arabella looks up to find both of them watching her. “Yes?” 

Clayton only smiles and slowly, gingerly, sits up, moving to one edge of the bed.

Mason clears his throat. “If you wanted—I’m happy to—I could go again.”

That earns a snort of a laugh from Clayton, and Arabella joins in with a shake of her head before reaching out and guiding Mason down. He lies back without resistance, blinking up at her and groaning softly as she rocks her hips against his hardening cock. Clayton moves to her side, and his hands come to rest on her hips. She leans against his shoulder, tipping her head back on a pleased hum.

“Anything I can do for you?”

He kisses the side of her neck. “Just let me hear you. I’ll let you know if I think of anything else.”

Laughing, Arabella turns to catch the shell of his ear in a gentle bite. Then she turns back to Mason and begins to move. 

**Author's Note:**

> The author thrives on comments!!! ♥️♠️♦️♣️


End file.
